


Between the Lines: "all things"

by AquariusNX01



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquariusNX01/pseuds/AquariusNX01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prologue to "all things" that also seeks to explore the tension between Mulder and Scully in the first scene after the teaser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Lines: "all things"

**Author's Note:**

> THE X-FILES and its characters belong to Fox and Ten-Thirteen Productions, not me. No infringement is intended by this work. It is only a labor of love, one fan's ruminations set to text instead of being shared verbally, in an effort to connect with other fans.
> 
> I wrote this fic as a way to try to establish the first time Mulder and Scully were intimate together. After listening to a lot of people's headcanons, I decided to try Gillian Anderson's explanation that she thought it happened sometime around "all things," and this is what I came up with. This is my first attempt at writing Mulder and Scully.
> 
> Feedback is welcome. :)

 He was taking her over.

Scully had promised herself she’d start setting boundaries again. She had promised herself she’d stick to them. She _has_ to, in order to regain some semblance of control over her life and her career – of herself – and she knows it.

Instead, she’s at their usual take-out place. Picking up their lunch. On a Saturday. Because he said it was urgent.

As she waits for their order, she contemplates the awkwardness of the past week – _Eight days_ , she corrects herself – since the day all boundaries she’d ever had with Mulder had all been obliterated.

***

_On his way home from Vermont, Mulder calls her, promises to make it up to her for ditching her on the stakeout. Dinner is on him, he swears, as soon as she’s well-rested and sufficiently de-putrified from that nasty efficiency apartment that had served as their observation post._

_True to his word, Mulder stops by the evening after his return. She had left the door unlocked for him as she told him she would. He doesn’t knock. Instead, he swaggers in, announcing, “Breaking and entering!” At her laugh, he holds up a carry-out bag and adds, “Now with kung-pao.” In his other hand is a six-pack of beer. There are two movies tucked under his arm._

_“Just when I was thinking that my day wouldn’t be complete without a home invasion, here you are,” she teases, relieving him of the bag and the beer. She can’t help but notice how ruggedly handsome he looks – jeans, boots, and lightweight cream-colored sweater set off by a day’s worth of growth on his face._

_Scully moves to join him on the couch, having procured napkins from the kitchen – the Golden Palace is usually bad about putting them in the bag and Mulder always forgets to grab some. She hasn’t brought utensils from the kitchen – she knows Mulder would at least remember the chopsticks. He always does._

_He’s already twisting the top off a beer and passing it to her. “Just one of the many services I offer,” he says with a suggestive wink._

_She smiles at that. Somehow, they’ve moved past pretending they’re not flirting with each other. Further, it’s become somewhat habit-forming. At some point – though she cannot pinpoint the exact moment – their relationship has moved into a space where they are behaving neither like best friends, nor exactly like boyfriend and girlfriend, but somehow both at once. It seemed in every way they’d become significant others – save for one major detail. She thinks that makes her his “work wife.”_

_Though Scully longs to define it, to give it a shape and a name, she’s been afraid to destroy it by probing too deeply or taking it too far. She hasn’t let her guard this far down with anyone in a long time. It feels good to be completely herself with him. She doesn’t know what she’d do if that was ever taken from her._

_He’s opening and spreading out white cardboard boxes of food in front of them as she takes a draw from her bottle. He’s loaded_ This Is Spinal Tap _into the DVD player – he’s made her swear she’d watch it with him in order to atone for her grave transgression of never having seen it before. She hasn’t looked, but she imagines the other video is for him, for later, when he’s home alone._

_Her cheeks flush a little at that, and she hopes he doesn’t notice. As a doctor, she’s anything but a prude when it comes to human sexuality, though her reactions to many of the things she witnessed during the recent stakeout may claim otherwise. Rather, she has an irrational fear that Mulder can see into her mind whenever she imagines him as a sexual being._

_And she’s been imagining it quite a lot lately._

***

On the drive to the office, Scully chides herself for starting to relive that night, for warming herself with the memory of his easy companionship. She can taste the Hunan chicken again even though Mulder’s sandwich is smelling up the car.

Seriously, though, she wonders, what has it all gotten her – this devotion she’s had for him all these years? Abducted? Tortured? Cancer? Robbed of her chances at motherhood? A career that’s in constant jeopardy?

She sighs heavily, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. She feels guilty for thinking it. Mulder is a damn good friend, and in all fairness, her past and present troubles aren’t exactly all his fault. They’re her own – for following him against her better judgment, no matter what.

And it seems like all she ever does is follow. And do the autopsies he asks for. And get lunch. Even if it’s Saturday.

Scully isn’t yet sure if the problem is more that she’s always going along for the ride, or that it’s always so unquestionably _his_ ride. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe all that matters is carving out a path of her own, even if it starts with making herself less available.

Given recent developments, she thinks, some distance can only help.

She’ll start today. Whatever Mulder has in mind – the answer is no.

It will be an adjustment for both of them, she knows. She doesn’t want to lose him as a friend. She doesn’t want to not be his partner any more. But she also doesn’t want to be his –

***

_Beer bottles and take-out containers of varying degrees of emptiness litter the coffee table. Scully is full but content. She is not drunk. She’s only had a beer and a half. Rather, she has that comfortable, toe-scrunching sense of contentedness that just enough alcohol gives her._

_The movie had ended. Scully barely notices, snuggled up to Mulder, his arm around her shoulders. She likes the vibration of his voice as it resonates through his chest, onto her cheek and into her ear. Especially when he laughs. She’s glad he brought a comedy. She wonders if he’s going to stay the night. He has before. Sometimes it’s just easier for him to stay on the couch. She doesn’t let him drink and drive._

_Rather than voice any of this, she continues to savor the vibrations against her face and the scent of his cologne as they compare notes on seedy underbellies of society. She doesn’t say much about the debauchery she saw during the stakeout; she’s already given him the details she could share without throwing up a little. Mulder tells her about Vermont, ravens, and the power of denial. “I almost preferred the stakeout, Scully.”_

_She tilts her chin up to look at him incredulously._

_“No, really. I mean it,” he goes on. “Think about it – it might’ve been freak show going on through that telescope, but those people have no pretensions about who or what they are. It’s honest – albeit in a depraved, criminal element sort of way. In Bethany…” he shakes his head. “Just as revolting – more so, really, all that energy they put into maintaining the illusion that everything is fine, everything is perfect. It destroyed them.”_

_Scully blinks up at him. “It must take a lot of effort to keep up that sort of illusion,” she says enigmatically._

_It just hangs there for a moment. She’s not sure if she means the gossip-fodder of the picturesque and upscale small town in Vermont, or the illusion of sorts they both have been maintaining for so long._

_Rather than escalating into one of their many deep discussions about life that ends with one of them falling asleep on the couch, it takes an unexpected turn._

_“I should probably get going,” he says, not looking away from her eyes._

_The idea of him leaving creates a hollow in her chest. She doesn’t want him to go. She wants to tell him that it’s still early. That it’s the weekend. That they could see what’s on TV._

_But none of that comes out. Instead, as Scully feels his slightest movement to rise, she tightens her grip on him, holding him down._

_Mulder’s head tilts quizzically. She can see that he’s not sure what’s happening, but he gives her a squeeze around her shoulders. His free hand cups her face, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern on her cheek. “Scully, what is it?” The intensity of his eyes—_

_She has seen it before. She knows he’s thinking a million things at once. She sees concern. She sees anticipation._

_“Mulder, I—” She’s overwhelmed all of a sudden, and she doesn’t know what she wants to say, exactly. Instead, she brushes his jaw with the back of her fingers, eventually feathering them over his lips. He gives them the faintest ghost of a kiss._

_She moves in to kiss him before she can lose her resolve. It’s tender at first, soft, exploratory. She’s trembling. She’s afraid she’s going to explode, or float away, or both. She feels her pulse thundering through her entire body._

_She knows that she’ll die of humiliation if she’s miscalculated._

_“Scully…” Mulder breathes when they finally part. He’s not stopping her. He’s giving her a chance to stop herself._

_Scully has no intention of stopping. It isn’t the rash or impulsive act he fears it to be. Rather, it’s the dropping of the pretense that they haven’t both been contemplating this for years, the illusion that this isn’t the obvious outcome of the way they’ve been behaving toward each other lately. The words won’t come – it’s too late for that any way – so she articulates her point by pulling him closer for another kiss. It begins the same way, until she deepens it, shifting to face him as she sits on her knees, straddling his legs._

_She digs her fingers into his soft, dark hair. She feels his hands smoothing over her backside, sliding up her back…down again, then up the inside of her shirt. She breaks away only long enough to raise her arms to help him pull it over her head. She’s grateful fate and her dirty laundry pile had guided her to choose one of her newer, cuter bras when she dressed this morning. She can feel that her hair is mussed now, probably sticking up in weird places, but the way he looks at her, she’s never felt more beautiful._

_Mulder leans forward, tugging at the waist of his sweater. She holds tightly onto his hips in order to keep from falling back. In a quick, jerky motion, his sweater joins her top in a crumpled heap on the floor, taking a carton of half-eaten fried rice with it. Their arms tangle around each other once again, the heat of his bare chest radiating against her pale skin. She feels his erection between her legs and she aches deeply. He moans into her mouth as she starts moving against his bulge, seeking the relief of friction. Two pairs of jeans become an intolerable barrier. Two feet of lead might as well be keeping them apart._

_Climbing off him, she stands, takes his hands, and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom. They kiss as she walks backward. She nearly trips over the corner of the coffee table, but Mulder’s got her. An empty beer bottle clunks to the floor but he doesn’t let her fall. He lifts her, and her legs wrap around his waist. She enjoys the flavor of his neck and his ear, then feels herself being lowered to the bed. His his smile is tender and playful, but his eyes smolder with desire.  
_

She doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone coming off the elevator. Her mortification at having her thoughts known, that her expression and her body language give everything away, takes over again. She wishes it would work to firm her resolve, to make her mind stop going back down this road as it has so many times since a week ago Friday.

She smirks as the elevator doors trap her. A sense of panic sets in but she’s careful to not let it crack her veneer. It’s okay to be overwhelmed as long as no one sees it.

_All barriers are gone now. Mulder smiles when he sees her tattoo for the first time. Scully wants to cringe. She holds her breath. She’s afraid there will be a judgment attached to it, or an expectation, but neither are forthcoming. “Interesting choice,” he says softly. He doesn’t make her explain it, though she knows he’ll file it away to ask about another time. For now, it’s clear that she’s surprised him, and they both enjoy that. Her skin quivers as he traces it reverently._

_He takes his time with her. She arches her back enters her, and she whimpers at the emptiness when he’s gone after a few moments. It’s just a preview of what’s to come. He uses his mouth and his fingers to overload her. He teases her, brings her to the precipice but pulls her back before she can go over, only to take her to the edge again, over and over. She can’t decide if he’s generous or cruel._

_He feasts on every bit of her body, even places she hadn’t dared to consider before. She doesn’t know if it’s a result of his pornography habit, or if it’s simply out of a desire to know her completely, to consume her. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t protest. She allows herself the luxury of enjoying being so consumed. She is uncertain if she can respond to every action with direct reciprocity, but he has made no such demands of her and she knows none will emerge. Rather, after he works his way back up her body, she encourages him to roll to his back. She puts her medical knowledge of human anatomy to work, locating every nerve ending and tender spot likely to please him. She knows it’s said that men are visual creatures; she is careful to make the right amount of eye contact at the right times, and she makes certain that he has an unobstructed view as she does some consuming of her own._

_His hands push into the tangle of her copper locks. The pads of his fingers are at once encouraging her to continue and pleading with her to stop. Eventually, he hisses her name through gritted teeth. He’s close, but he doesn’t want to be finished yet. Not this way. She knows all of this, just from her name. She withdraws._

_He takes a moment to hold her close, to kiss her and nuzzle her, and to gaze at her appreciatively. Having regrouped, he guides her onto her back, enters her as he had before. Her arms coil around his neck, his breath hot on her delicate shoulder. His hand finds room between their bodies, his hips moving erratically with his fingers as he works to bring her to the edge one last time. She cries out into his ear as she comes undone, her body quaking beneath him. She feels like she’s in a million pieces, but his chest and his arms keep her together. She doesn’t know if it’s the same for him, but she holds him as tightly as he finishes, and she coos reassuringly into his ear._

_Their hair is matted with perspiration, their bodies dewy and slick. He holds her, kisses her, caresses her as their breathing returns to normal._

_He finds his voice again. “You okay, Scully?” He’s tracing lazy patterns on her cheek._

_She smiles. “Everything’s fine.” She snuggles into him, seeking out the familiar comfort of the contours of his body. She’d just been given everything she ever wanted, and she’s been gifted with the knowledge that he wanted it, too._

_But, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was coming to the realization that everything was not, in fact, fine. She tries to push down the nagging worry that this will somehow be taken away from her._

_Surely the world owes them a little happiness._

***

It’s a long elevator ride to the basement, and an even longer walk to Mulder’s office – _their_ office.

She tells herself she’ll be fine, that she can stay strong, that pulling away a little more is the right thing to do.

***

_He leaves around one in the morning after they both have a brief slumber. She tells him he doesn’t have to go, even though the voice in the distance of her mind tells her it’s probably a good idea. He kisses her after he dresses. He promises to call her tomorrow._

_He keeps his promise. She’s in the shower when the phone rings._

_The phone rings again after she plays her messages. She tries not to be too giddy when she picks up, having finally pushed down her earlier sense of foreboding. Her face falls. It’s Deputy Director Kersh’s assistant. On a Saturday, of all things. He wants to see Scully in his office first thing in the morning._

_Scully realizes she has, in fact, miscalculated – just not the way she thought._

_She does not call Mulder back. She picks up beer bottles and take-out containers, erasing the night before.  
_

_Mulder tries her cell the next day. She lets it go to voice mail. She needs space. She needs to think._

_Monday she’s in Kersh’s office as ordered. Skinner is there, but he says nothing during the meeting. His hands are tied – he’s there to be indirectly punished for her and Mulder’s poor judgment. She worries that Kersh knows about her and Mulder even though there’s no way. The man is sneaky and powerful, but he’s not THAT powerful, she thinks. He can’t be. Still, no matter what, the man’s demeanor is such that she always feels like she’s in trouble; if he’s happy, that means twice as bad. She and Mulder are always in trouble for something. For what, it doesn’t matter any more._

_She is dressed down for yet another wild goose chase generated from the basement office. There had been no serial killer. No X-File. There had only been community outreach to prostitutes who wanted help getting off the streets. She gets to be the sole receiver of this hand-slapping because Skinner had pulled Mulder off to another assignment. Kersh is going to get to Mulder through her this time. Fabulous. She’s on thin ice again, the deputy director says. She’s almost sullied her reputation beyond repair because of her association with Mulder, he pronounces. Blah, blah, blah. It’s all the same._

_But as she leaves his office, she begins to believe he’s right. This is further supported when Skinner follows her out and hands her a file on behalf of Agent Mulder. She reads as she and Skinner walk their separate ways. She sighs heavily at the paperwork marked Szczesny and the memo requesting an autopsy, the word “ectoplasm” jumping out at her immediately. The photos of the body are unremarkable save for the green goo._

_Her shoulders slump. She rolls her eyes even though there is no one there to watch. The last thing she or Mulder needs right now is another failure, another dead end._

_But a dead end is exactly what her life is feeling like at the moment. And it kills her, because while things had begun to feel so perfect with Mulder on a personal level, they were professionally in a trap of doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results. Is it possible that the other night was just one more in a string of bad decisions she’s made since being assigned to the X-Files? She concedes that a lot of things that feel good are destructive. Like narcotics. The similarities are not lost on her. Mulder is habit-forming._

_On the bright side, the autopsy keeps her busy and out of the office for most of the day._

_It gives her plenty of time to think about what to say to him, to make some decisions. Taking her relationship with Mulder to the next level could destroy the X-Files. It also has the potential to destroy their friendship once he hears what she has to say. She knows that changes have to be made, for her own sake, even if Mulder won’t do the safe, smart thing and follow._

_He’s gone from the office when she arrives near the end of the workday. She’s sure there is a voice mail from him waiting, but she doesn’t check. Instead, she finishes some paperwork, though when she closes the last folder, she has no memory of any of its contents._

_She knows Mulder is likely to be home by now. She goes there instead of her own apartment. Though she needed avoid him earlier, what she has to say now cannot wait. He opens the door at her knock. He’s in a sweatshirt and jeans. He’s barefoot. He smiles, cups her jaw in his hand as he leans down to kiss her, tells her he’s been trying to call her. She knows. She stiffens even though she tries not to._

_“Scully, what’s wrong?” He gestures for her to come in and sit down. She stands in front of the door, not taking off her coat. His brow furrows. He’s puzzled and concerned._

_She starts by telling him about the meeting with Kersh. Mulder folds his arms as he listens. She concludes by telling him they have to be very careful from now on. When she’s finished, he tries to hug her reassuringly. “We’re gonna nail that son of a bitch one of these days, Scully,” he soothes. “I’m sorry you had to take this one for the team.” She knows he means it._

_Scully puts her hands on his chest in protest. “No, Mulder.” This is hard. The comfort he offers is dangerous._

_“What’s going on?” he asks. His eyes oscillate between confusion and the anticipation of pain as they search hers._

_“Mulder, we have to stop.” She pulls away from him._

_“Stop…what? The X-Files?” He knows that’s not what she means. She can tell. He wants to make her say it_

_“Listen,” she tries to say reasonably. “We both know that relationships within the bureau are frowned upon, particularly between partners.” She cuts him off before he can speak. “You know that if Kersh finds out, he won’t hesitate to make an example out of us.”_

_Mulder laughs mirthlessly at that. He puts his hands on her shoulders. She tries to draw the strength she needs from his touch but it only overwhelms her. “We’re FBI agents,” he says. “If anyone knows how to operate discreetly, it’s us.”_

_“Mulder,” she resists, not succeeding at keeping the frustration out of her voice. She knows she’s hurting him with every word. “We can’t hand Kersh what he needs to finish us.” She knows it’s only part of the truth. She wants to be gentle, to not wound him any more than she has to. “The other night was amazing. And we can never do it again. We need to stop and think.”_

_He smirks, nods. “Okay.” She expects a fight, not to be gently guided to the door. “You’re right.”_

_“Mulder…” she tries to backpedal, but she’s not sure to what end. “I just want us to think about everything we’re risking…and whether or not it’s worth it. We don’t want to regret anything if it backfires on us later.”_

_He shakes his head with a bitter smile. “I don’t regret anything,” he argues. “Not the X-Files. Not the other night.”_

_“That’s not what I’m trying to say, Mulder!” Truth was, she didn’t really know_ what _she was trying to say, except that everything was fucked up and she was afraid they were making it worse._

_“Listen,” he says a bit more calmly after an exasperated sigh, “I don’t mean to rush you off, but I was just on my way out when you got here.” They both know it’s a lie. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, okay?” He tries to dull the obvious resentment in his voice with a caress of her cheek, but it’s clear that this closes the conversation – which is what she wanted, just not this way. His abrupt acceptance unnerves her._

_“Mulder, I’m sorry.” Her voice sounds as small as she feels. Why couldn’t she make him see that what seemed like such a good, logical decision before was so wrong now? That she was wrong despite her best intentions? She fidgets with the collar of his shirt. “I – I just think it’s better if we go back to the way things were before, okay?” It was possible, right? They could be adults about this, couldn’t they?_

_“I’m fine,” he lies for the both of them. “And you’re right. But I’ve got to get going.”_

_She leaves awkwardly, nothing more to say. She goes home. She throws in a load of laundry while dinner is on the stove. She washes the sheets, but not the pillowcases. She can’t. Not yet. Not until she’s completely memorized every nuance of his scent on her pillow._

_She knows she’s done the right thing, for the sake of her career and his._

_But it feels horrible._

***

Scully tries to tell Mulder about the Szczesny autopsy results when she walks in. He’s at the slide projector. That song is playing on the boom box on the desk again. It seems it’s all he listens to any more since he picked up the CD a few weeks ago. Its presence feels especially intrusive today. She twists the off knob and tells him about the autopsy results again. Tequila. Upchucked. _Blair Witch_ reenactment. Another complete waste of time based on a leap, she wants to add, but she doesn’t say it. There’s enough tension between them as it is, and to Mulder’s credit, he’s been doing an admirable job of behaving normally since the last time she’d gone to his apartment.

An unsettlingly admirable job. She’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it hasn’t come.

She passes him his sandwich and he begins to tell her about crop circles in England. Drizzling her salad with dressing, stabbing at the intractable vegetables on take-out plastic, she’s only vaguely aware of his voice. All she can think of is maintaining her resolve. His quiet acceptance of the demise of their too-brief romance notwithstanding, she will not be talked into chasing shadows with him, not this time.

“And I’m not wearing any pants right now.”

It takes Scully a moment to realize she hasn’t been listening. “Hmmmm?” she mumbles over a mouthful of lettuce and raspberry vinaigrette.

“You’re not listening.” He says it matter-of-factly, but there is disappointment and a vague hint of an accusation in his eyes.

“I am,” she insists before swallowing. She’s reminded of just how fragile their return to the status quo really is. She’d intended to be firm and guarded, not rude.

Mulder chews a mouthful of sandwich. She wishes he wouldn’t look at her that way. He truly doesn’t understand.

“I guess I just don’t see the point.” There. That’s better. That’s the Scully he knows, she thinks. She misses the evaporation of his crestfallen look into a more neutral expression as he proceeds to explain.

“The point is,” he says over his swallow of sandwich, rewarming to his subject, “is that a computer program has shown us that these are not just random, happenstance, coincidental occurrences – and that same program has predicted that in just forty-eight hours, even more complex formations are going to be laid down in a field near Adbury. Forty-eight hours, Scully, but I wouldn’t mind getting there earlier if you don’t mind.”

 _What?_ “Getting where?”

“England,” he answers. “I got two tickets on a 5:30 flight.”

Scully sees that he isn’t going to make it easy. She isn’t certain if she’s dealing with the presumptuousness that usually accompanies his obsession, or if he’s simply trying too hard. “Mulder, I still have to go over to the hospital and – and –” _Boundaries, Dana!_ “– and finish the paperwork on the autopsy you had me do.” _Good. Keep going._ “And to be honest, it’s Saturday, and I wouldn’t mind…” _What?_ “… I don’t know. Taking a bath?” Not that anyone needs a whole Saturday to take a bath. But that wasn’t the point, was it? She’s overly interested in her salad again, mostly because she can’t stand to watch his reaction to being blindsided play out over his face.

“What the hell does that mean?” he demands.

She’s exasperated now, not so much at his assumption that she’d gladly run off to England with him as though she has nothing else better to do. It’s more at how _easily_ he’s settled back into the way things were before they’d slept together, as though it had never happened. Sure, that’s what she’d asked for! But damn it - couldn’t he at least have the decency to struggle with it, too? Instead of acting like that night had been removed with surgical precision, his life sewn neatly back together as though that piece had never been there? Even though that’s what she said she wanted?

The truth is, she _would’ve_ gone with him before now, without much of a fuss, and they both know it. And that is precisely the problem. He’s respected her wishes and gone back to the way things were. She hasn’t. She’s gone somewhere different. She’s had time to ruminate and she’s changing the deal without warning.

“What it means, Mulder, is that I’m not interested in tracking down some sneaky farmers who happen to have aced geometry in high school.”

The accusation in his eyes gets louder as he says nothing.

“And besides…” she goes on, a little defensively, because she knows what she’s done. And she can’t take his silence. And because she has to make it make sense to both of them because everything she does to make it better in the long run hurts him so badly now. “…what could you possibly get out of this? Or learn? I mean, it’s – it’s not even remotely FBI-related.” There. Rational. Reasonable. No relationship whatsoever to the all the ways sleeping with each other has complicated their lives whether he realizes it or not. She punctuates it with another bite of lettuce, as though that gives her all the justification she needs. She looks back down at her salad in an effort to maintain her moment of empowerment, to steel herself against his barrage of arguments to change her mind.

She also misses the moment of realization flashing in his eyes as he nods slightly. He knows where he stands but he doesn’t exactly understand why. “I’ll just cancel your ticket,” he says. He makes no further attempt to persuade her. Through a last mouthful of sandwich, he thanks her for lunch.

She rolls her eyes, but whether it’s at him or at herself, she doesn’t know. Setting boundaries doesn’t mean having to hurt his feelings, but she has to admit to herself that she often misses the calmer, saner pace of her life before the X-Files. She _needs_ that right now. Why couldn’t he understand that? “Mulder – look, we’re always running.”

He pauses in the doorway to put on his jacket.

“We’re always chasing the next big thing,” she goes on. After a pause to finish swallowing some salad, she says, a little more gently, “I mean, why don’t you ever just stay still?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know what I’d be missing.” His tone tells her he’s frustrated and disappointed that she has to have this explained to her. She should know him by now.

And with that, he’s gone. His partially wrapped sandwich drops to the floor, as though it wants to leave with him because it’s pissed off at her, too.

She’s left alone in the office. There’s nothing but the _click-clack_ of the slide projector advancing itself to keep her company as she contemplates the mess she’s made.

 


End file.
